An Illustrious Dirge

An Illustrious Dirge.



Drying clots of dirt, the steam wafts,

small fabric clouds across my path.

Starch dissolution leads to softness,

unlike any.


Fresh leaves fallen,

wet dog, deep earth.

Damp wood made dry by fire,

good air.

Torn leaves blush for insult,

beautifully.

A lone bug survives the night,

heroically.

Peaked green, emerges from my step,

As Wisk the colors into maelstrom.


The worm reveals its nose.

Naked trees, house joyous shelves of life.

The ones with hats cluster round the base,

orange,

brown,

yellow.

Their brimmed domes refract the drop of rain.

Without time, the frilled man stands,

beside his fallen brethren,

resilient,

shining.

For his hyphae know this place,

a time of relinquishment.


Ah! how good a bowl, how old a song,

for one to sing as autumn.


White slime, ten to a line, down broken branches,

under coarse woody vines.

Yet most the grapes have fallen, black mixed with the bruised leaves.

No marble as veined, no shag as lustrous as these supple fibers,

cascading gently down the back of Gaia.

Seven stars, hang from muddied bone, naked and stark.

The smallest bird builds the largest nest.

Such eroticism,

reveled, in her undressing.


The air crisp, yet not abrasive.

A tuft of smoke, across my face.

What moisture, that hangs thick in the air,

mixing with my exhalation.

To breathe.

To embrace the familiar spice,

the sensual decay.

Sweetly,

greets me.

Ushered in with the ease of fog, amplifying soft sound.

and oh how few the red vines twigged round the bush,

with its foliage like un-ripe fruit, so luscious, so vacant.

What a conjuration it is,

what a dance.


A piercing greeting, as nears the crow,

I know him well, yet his beauty shines profusely,

admits this fallen divergence.


An emergence,

of watered panels rendered delicate with the dew.

Moss to yellow tho, royal green to brown decay.

The golden eyes glitter, ,

a caw,

with red tongue points,

to this honeyed Cornucopia.

The strength lies now in the kingdom of the Myconid.

They smell their fate,

and choose to flourish,

Valiantly.

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Comments 2 comments

Jess Killmenow profile image

Jess Killmenow 7 years ago from Nowheresville, Eastern United States

Just awesome. There be jewels among the fungi.

"For his hyphae know this place,

a time of relinquishment."

Excellent


Am I dead, yet? 7 years ago

I am definitely with Jess on this one, Stolas. I enjoy your work. I do need to let you know this. Just brilliant.

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